Title: Dark Wells
Genre: Horror/Angst
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: A lot of angst and ghastly things to happen.
Summary: 'She didn't like to be alone and was delighted when the young boy came to Her.' Young Frodo doesn't return after taking a walk with Lotho Sackville-Baggins. A desperate search begins... but will his parents ever find him? - slightly A/U

Author notes:
This is what happens when my friend and I watch a horror movie ('The Ring') and have nothing better to do than to have long talks about Frodo and hobbits in general to distract ourselves afterwards.

Frodo has just turned ten at the beginning of this story. He lives with his parents in a hobbithole outside Bywater.

~~~~~~

Chapter one: Unpleasant Visitors

Frodo yawned sleepily and snuggled into his blankets. Primula tucked the coverlet safely about him and, kissing him goodnight, she left the room.

"Mama?" Frodo's tired voice stopped her from closing the door.

She turned looking at him questioningly. Smiling he patted the mattress of his bed. The candle in her hands flickered as she sat down beside him putting the candlestick holder down on the bedside table. The coverlet rustled as he shifted slightly and placed his head on her lap.

"Do you think the Sackville-Bagginses will be as stupid as they were when they last visited?" the boy wanted to know, his voice low, his eyes still closed.

Primula knitted her brow and, brushing her fingers through his dark curls, she answered: "Frodo, they are your relatives. You shouldn't deem them stupid."

He blinked, murmuring: "But you think the same."

"Who told you that?"

Failing to hide his smile he told her that he had heard her telling his father that his relatives were rather stupid and that she didn't appreciate their visit. He pondered for a moment before adding: "Aren't dad's relatives yours as well?"

"You little rascal!" she teased ruffling his curls and making him giggle. "They are mine as well, in some sort of way, but only because I married your father and that doesn't mean that I like them as much as I probably should," she paused. "Still you should try to get along with them, especially Lotho. He can't be that bad, can he?"

Frodo scowled. "But he is! He's a small-minded, fat and stupid…"

"Frodo!" she interrupted, looking at him invectively.

Grumbling he laid back into his pillow, declaring that he wouldn't play with Lotho and would not allow him to use any of his toys.

Primula shook her head. She couldn't be too angry with her son, for she too held little love for the Sackville-Bagginses. But they were the relatives of her husband and therefore she had to endure tea with them. At least they didn't stay longer than one afternoon.

"Good night," she whispered, took up the candlestick holder once more and left the room quietly. She didn't shut the door for she knew that her son tended to fear darkness, when he was alone.

Silently she stepped into the living room of the small hobbithole outside Bywater. Her husband was kneeling in front of the hearth getting a fire going. He picked into the glowing fire with the tongs and there was a silent crackle, when the flames finally got hold of the log Drogo had thrown in. His face glowed red and his eyes glimmered in the blazing light of the fire. He smiled at her as he got to his feet, picked up his pipe and let himself sink into his modest chair. She blew out the candle and sat down on a rocking chair beside him.

"He doesn't look forward to seeing the S.B.s," she said casually.

Drogo filled his pipe saying that neither of them was looking forward to seeing them.

"Lobelia is a pest," he declared, "as is Lotho. As for Otho, well, he seems the only one with at least a little wit in his family."

Primula said nothing hoping silently the next day would pass swiftly.

~~~~~~

It was a cool and fresh October-morning. The weather was promising and it looked as if it would be a sunny and warm day as soon as the matutinal fog had passed. Frodo was huffing all morning, searching feverishly for excuses to allow him to spend the afternoon elsewhere but at home. He cooked up stories of Folco Boffin inviting him to come which Frodo had forgotten to tell. But Primula wouldn't let him go.

It was noon when Frodo sat in front of his father at the kitchen table; his arms cross, scowling angrily. "Why do they have to come? I don't want them to be here and Lotho and his parents don't like me either."

"Frodo," Drogo sighed. "It's been a year since they last visited, maybe you can give Lotho a chance? Maybe he likes you now?"

"And if he does, I won't," snorted his son. "Last time he visited he put glue on my hair telling that it was by accident but I didn't believe him, I still don't. Who knows what he's up to this year?"

"He's up to nothing! The thing with the glue was pure misfortune."

"How can anyone spill a pot of glue by accident?" asked Frodo in a stubborn tone, unwilling to give in.

Drogo was about to lose his patience. "Have you never spilled anything?"

"I have," declared Frodo. "But never a pot of glue and never on the hair of another hobbit."

"That's enough!" Drogo finally said, glaring slightly angry at his son. "You will accompany Lotho this afternoon and you won't quarrel and that's it!"

Drogo sighed heavily as Frodo stepped away grumbling. He felt a headache approach. Last year Otho and Lobelia came for a visit two days after Frodo's ninth birthday. During the afternoon Frodo and Lotho had disappeared in Drogo's study and when they had returned Frodo was crying and blustering, telling that Lotho had spilled all the glue in his hair. How it came to pass neither of them could tell him. Anyhow, most of Frodo's curls fell victim to a pair of scissors which, of course, didn't appeal to him.

~~~~~~

Frodo sat in the branches of an oak tree which stood close to his home. The wind whistled in the coloured leaves and made his hair swirl. From afar he could see the pony-trap advancing, but still he was unwilling to come down of his tree and spend the afternoon with young Lotho Sackville-Baggins.

"Down you come, young fellow!" it was his mothers voice that awakened him from his thoughts.

He looked down where she stood, her hands at her hips, looking expectantly at him. He sighed, climbing down the tree querulously. As soon as his feet touched ground again, his mother gripped him by the hand.

"I know you don't like Lotho, but it's only this one afternoon. Please behave yourself so your father and I can be proud of you."

Frodo grimaced as they advanced the entrance door. His stubbornness melted slowly but finally he took a deep breath and nodded. He could afford being nice to a person he disliked for one afternoon, if his parents wished it.

The pony-trap stopped and Frodo heard his father sighing. A smile crept over his face. He was not the only one who disliked the Sackville-Bagginses. Maybe disliking those kinds of relatives was something like a family-disease, for his mother didn't look any happier than his father.

"Drogo, my dear!" Lobelia cried out as he helped her down the trap and hugged him tightly.

"Hello Lobelia, it's good to see you!" he lied without letting on anything.

Her eyes fell upon Frodo, who stood, rather unsure of what he was to do, at his mother's side.

"How tall you've grown!" she said enthusiastically, advancing towards him with quick paces.

Frodo was tempted to step back, but forced himself to stand still. She kneeled down in front of him, cupping his chin and twitching his cheek. "How very cute he is, almost as sweet as my Lotho!"

Primula tried to ignore her last words as she welcomed her. As soon as he was released from Lobelia's grip, Frodo rubbed his cheek which had turned slightly red because of this treatment. That was one of the many reasons why he didn't like the Sackville-Bagginses. Unlike his mother, he hadn't ignored the last words of Lobelia. He shot her a glance but smiled as soon as he realised that his father was watching him.

It took them a few minutes before they finally entered the comfortable hobbithole where they would have tea together. Primula served them an apple pie she had baked the day before. Frodo talked little while eating. Instead he listened to the conversation of the adults, which he soon thought uninteresting.

Having the S.B.s for tea was alright, as long as he got apple pie and didn't have to spend his time with Lotho, who didn't appear to have changed a lot since he last met him. Frodo didn't feel very comfortable when he was near him. He couldn't tell exactly what it was, but something in his appearance troubled him. He shifted uneasily in his chair when Lotho spoke always hoping that no one would force him to play with the older hobbit-lad.

Suppressing a yawn, Frodo looked dreamily into the dazzling flames of the fire in the hearth. After he had eaten his cake he had ignored everything that was happening beside him and started daydreaming. Startled he turned around when someone gripped his shoulder. Lotho was looking at him expectantly. Frodo raised an eyebrow unsure of what the hobbit wanted of him.

"Why don't you two go outside and leave us alone for a while?" said Primula.

Frodo looked at his mother pleadingly, failing in suppressing a sigh. She nodded slightly, her eyes begging him to do as she said. It took a few seconds until the young hobbit finally got to his feet. As he passed his mother's side his eyes spoke volumes. She smiled at him, winking.

~~~~~~

Lotho hadn't been in Bywater for a long while now and thus the two of them decided to go for a walk. Frodo spoke little for Lotho declared that he didn't like childish conversation and he made it quite clear to Frodo that he deemed him a child and nothing more. Frodo gritted his teeth, clenched his fists and tried his best to take no notice of the insulting comments of his cousin.

The road they took was less travelled for the Baggins-family lived in a remote part outside Bywater. A fresh October wind was blowing and yellowish leaves were rustling over the earthy and cold ground. Some fluffy clouds were casting fleeting shadows on their path. The first sign that the two boys were reaching Bywater was a stone well which stood in a meadow on the right side of the road. Lotho ran towards it and looked into the dark abyss with excitement. Sighing heavily Frodo followed him. He had to stand on his tiptoes to look into the darkness it revealed. The well was very deep for Frodo could not see the water it usually held. Lotho picked up a pebble and throw it into the well. Silence. Frodo found that he had stopped breathing and listened intensely. A silent splash revealed that the well still held water, if only a little. A shudder ran through the young hobbit and he quickly took some paces backwards.

"Are you scared?" asked Lotho spitefully. He was quite amazed by the depth of the well and had to test it with another stone.

Frodo shook his head and stepped closer again, but avoided standing on his tiptoes, keeping still a little distance between himself and the solid stones of the well. While Lotho listened for another splashing sound, Frodo looked at the bucket which hung on a strong rope. The rope which at least had been strong once was wound around a wooden crossbar. Now it looked rather used and at some points it was frayed.

"I wager you don't dare to let yourself slide down there," Lotho said all of a sudden.

Frodo looked at him stunned. "Would you?" he wanted to know.

Lotho didn't answer at once but then he said: "I don't need to show that I'm no child anymore. But you, you could prove me wrong and demonstrate that you're as much a grown-up as I am."

Frodo swallowed, looking at the older hobbit suspiciously. He pondered a while, always glancing to the stone well, but then he shook his head for he was too scared of the darkness that lingered down there. Not waiting for a reaction of Lotho, Frodo stepped back on the road and headed for Bywater. Lotho was at his side within seconds smiling nastily.

"You're stupid, you know that?" Frodo snorted getting angry because of Lotho's behaviour.

Lotho didn't answer but smiled even wider. "At least I'm no coward."

The wind grew heavier and whistled quietly, when Frodo suddenly stopped short and glared at Lotho furiously. He was not going to put up with that. It was one thing to do his mother a favour and 'behave himself' as she put it, but it was another to get picked on by Lotho. "At least I have more wits than all your family," he blustered, turned around and dashed along the road.

For a moment Lotho was tempted to follow him and trounce the young lad but then he made up his mind. He was rid of that child dangling at his side and he was sure that Frodo would find his way back home on his own, so no one could accuse him of not looking after him. Anyway, he was not his childminder.

~~~~~~

As soon as he was sure Lotho wouldn't follow him, Frodo stopped gasping for breath. Lotho was a fool, if he thought he could be so rude to him. Frodo may have silently promised his mother to endure the unpleasant visitors but that was too much for him. Lotho didn't want him at his side and Frodo did neither. They did better in going separate ways. Frodo looked back but couldn't see the older hobbit anymore.

Sighing heavily he got moving again when his eyes suddenly fell upon the well they had passed before. Pensively Frodo stepped closer looking cautiously over its edge into the darkness beyond. Again he shuddered. A thought crept into his mind, as he looked into the black abyss of the well. He was about to turn and step away when it finally took shape.

Lotho would stop taunting him if he slid down the well. No one would ever call him a coward again. Frodo looked at the bucket and the rope ruminatively and before recognising what he was doing he already climbed on the edge of the stone well and gripped for the bucket. He swayed slightly and clung desperately to the rope though that didn't keep him grounded very well. His heart was beating fast as he looked down to the meadow where the wind was playing with some leaves. He swallowed again before carefully stepping into the wooden bucket with his right foot. It swayed dangerously and Frodo's hands trembled as he stepped inside with his other foot as well. Now he had to carry all of his weight and he already felt the rope sliding slowly within his fingers. His heart pounded as if it was about to burst and small beads of sweat covered his forehead, as he slowly let himself drift deeper into the well. The bucket was rocking back and forth and ever and anon there was a creaking noise that almost scared Frodo to death. His fingers were trembling violently by now but he clung to the rope with a firm grip anyhow.

He was already far below, but still he couldn't see the water beneath. Swallowing hard he looked up again. He couldn't hold it any longer; he had to get back out of here no, matter what Lotho or anybody else would say. With all his strength he pulled at the rope with quivering hands looking expectantly at the round opening above him. The bucket moved but slowly and there was a quiet crackling that made Frodo uneasy. The young hobbit was angry with himself for going inside and all he wished was to get out of the well again. Another strong pull and the bucket slowly moved upwards. If he could only be outside already.

A crackle; Frodo looked up startled. His eyes grew wide. Not far above him the rope showed a strong sign of usage. There it was almost broken and only because of some threads it still held together. A quite sob escaped his lips as he pulled again, more careful this time. Not only were his hands trembling now but all his body. His hands got weary of their task and Frodo felt that he couldn't carry his weight much longer. The bucket creaked. Frodo's breathing got shallower. Another pull, a crackle; Frodo looked up. One of the threads had given way to the weight it carried. Shivering all over Frodo was almost fearful to pull at the rope again. His heart was pounding fast as he prepared to grip it further above.

There was another crackle and a resounding snap as one end of the rope lashed against the stonewall of the well.

A scream, a splash and then… silence.

Author notes:
This chapter is rather short, but there is more to come soon...

~~~~~~

Chapter two: Alone in the Darkness

The bucket was floating calmly in the shallow water of the well. The small hobbit-lad was crouching in the wooden vessel, his head resting on its edge. Blood was dripping from a lesion on his left forehead. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow.

It was only when the bucket knocked against the stones that Frodo startled awake and opened his eyes. Scared he backed away from the cold stone wall, almost toppling over and falling into the water. Frightened he clung to the bucket, looking about fearfully. A slight dizziness overcame him and he leaned heavily against the bucket side, almost tipping over anew. Liquid dripped into his eyes and Frodo swiftly wiped it away with the back of his hand. Seeing that his fingers were full of blood Frodo gave a cry and flinched back. This time he couldn't get hold of the bucket in time and fell into the water.

Fortunately he had learned to swim long ago. Struggling to the surface Frodo gripped for the bucket. The water was cold and dirty, but not very deep for his toes had touched ground when he had fallen in. The water felt oily to his skin and it was dark; dark and ghastly.

Crouching in the bucket again he looked around. The sun was shining into the round opening of the well, but her light didn't reach him. Closing his eyes he drew his knees close and flung his arms around them, when at last he remembered. The rope was torn apart and he had fallen, long and deep. And then darkness took him.

All of a sudden he started to pant. An icy shiver ran down his spine. He was captured. Panic seized him with an icy claw and he cried out desperately. He cried for his mother, for his father, for anybody to help him, as loud as his fearful voice allowed him. His screams echoed from the cold stonewall of the well ere they reached the world above and were carried away by the sighing October wind. Tears of despair were stinging in his eyes searching their way down his cheeks and still he called. His own voice was ringing in his ears, but there was no other that answered. After what seemed like endless hours his voice died down to a mere cawing, always interrupted by quiet sobs and silent tears that didn't cease to flow.

The light above him faded and Frodo reckoned that it must be evening. He wondered if his parents already missed him and if the S.B.s were gone by now. How long would it take for his parents to realise that he wasn't at home? And how long would it take them to find him? Would anybody find him here? Shivering all over he pulled his legs closer laying his head on his knees weeping silently.

The water beneath him gurgled quietly while the bucket in which he sat drifted from one edge to the other knocking against the cold stone wall and changing direction again. Frodo had closed his eyes hoping to escape his misery by doing so, when suddenly he heard voices far above him. The glimmer of hope glistened in his eyes when he looked up. There was even a smile playing on the corner of his lips as the voices came closer. But there was another noise that disturbed him although he couldn't make out what it was.

With a quick jump Frodo got to his feet fighting for balance. His throat was sore and he wasn't sure if his voice was still loud enough for the hobbits above to hear him, but still he would cry out. This was his only chance to get out of the well again.

He took a deep breath but his voice failed him. All of a sudden he felt cold, colder even than before. A shiver ran down his spine and the icy claw of fear clutched him even tighter than it had done earlier. He swayed feeling suddenly dizzy. His eyes grew wide when he felt a cool breath of wind stroking his neck. The world began to turn and he fell to his knees, almost toppling into the water again. It was as if cold, invisible fingers were caressing his cheek and finally came to rest upon his mouth. He was unable to breathe, let alone to shout.

His body was trembling violently as he desperately gasped for breath. Above him there was a scraping noise. The hobbits laughed as they were heaving something heavy, Frodo could tell that from the way they were breathing. While he found himself still unable to move, fighting desperately for breath, hot tears filled his eyes. Frodo jerked at the sound of stone scraping against stone. The world about him grew darker.

Sudden fear pierced his mind. They were closing the well with a flagstone. They always did so in autumn not to open it again before spring. The scraping almost drove him mad and still he couldn't find the air to cry out. Black spots were dancing in front of his eyes and the world grew darker.

A faint laugh from above and then… silent darkness. Frodo forced himself to stand up, but found that he still was unable to move. All of a sudden the cold fingers released him. Desperately Frodo gasped in some breath, shouting for help before toppling backwards and falling into the water with a splash. His desperate shout echoed from the cold stonewall but little of his voice broke through the flagstone.

~~~~~~

"That was the last one for t'day," Posco Brownlock said stretching his back.

Farmer Cotton laughed. "More to come t'morrow!"

Posco jumped on the seat of the cart with which they came but Tom Cotton stood silent for a moment. Had he heard someone crying? Puzzled he looked around but seeing the questioning look in his friend's eyes he shook his head and joined him on the cart.

~~~~~~

Coughing and spluttering Frodo reached the surface again. The oily liquid dripped from his curls and had soaked his clothes. He shuddered. Somehow he felt a disgusting dislike for the water in this well. He had some difficulties in climbing back into the bucket, but after some time he managed it. Fresh tears burned in his eyes as he looked up. The well was shut. Only a little light now broke through to his prison. He was caught and no one would find him here, not until spring anyway.

"Hello?!" he shouted with a raspy voice but there was no answer.

His eyes searched the thin glimmer of light for any movement, but there was none. Hiccupping sobs escaped his throat. Why did he climb into the well? Why couldn't he just ignore Lotho's comments? No one would ever find him here.

A light breath of wind caressed his face making him shiver. There was a whisper and a silent laugh close to his ear.

Terrified Frodo jumped up, swaying but catching his balance swiftly. His eyes were wide with fear. He was not alone.

Chapter three: Worries

Primula didn't delight in the conversation with the Sackville-Bagginses at all. Lobelia didn't show her dislike for the Brandybuck folk openly, but she made no secret out of it either. Primula was glad when the teapot was empty after she had refilled Otho's cup, so she could leave the table for a minute and go into the kitchen.

Sighing heavily she sank on a chair. She shook her head. Why had she invited the Sackville-Bagginses, still hoping that Lobelia may have changed her mind concerning her ancestry now that she lived in Bywater for more than ten years? Few of the hobbits now talked of her as 'a Brandybuck'. Most of them considered her as much a Baggins as her husband. But Lobelia would never change her mind. For her she would always stay the queer woman from across the river. Lost in thought she looked out of the window. Her son was not to be seen. Wondering if he was getting along with Lotho alright she got to her feet and put on another pot of tea. At least the afternoon would soon be over.

As she went back into the living-room Lotho stepped in. Primula looked at him quizzically.

"Where's Frodo?" she desired to know.

Lotho stopped short looking at her stunned. "Isn't he here? I thought he'd go home."

"Home? From where?" Drogo asked."Where have you been?"

Lotho shrugged. "We were on the way to Bywater when suddenly he turned 'round and dashed off. I thought he'd come here."

Primula and Drogo exchanged worried glances. Lotho smiled when Primula's incriminating eyes suddenly came to rest upon him. "What have you done to him?"

"Primie…" Drogo interrupted before she could say more.

Lobelia shot her a glance. "Stop insulting my son! He's done nothing wrong."

Primula glanced at her angrily feeling the entire wrath she had held under control all afternoon seethe.

Drogo pulled her to his side whispering quietly: "You know Frodo wasn't looking forward to this visit. Probably he's just gone off. He will return in the evening as soon as the S.B.s are gone."

Nodding slowly she stepped back to the table, put down the teapot and declared matter-of-factly that she had no intend to insult Lotho. Lobelia threw back her head saying nothing, while Otho stayed silent like he had done almost all afternoon.

~~~~~~

The sun was setting low when Drogo and Primula finally bid their guests farewell. The wind was getting fresh again. She shivered and Drogo instantly laid an arm around her shoulder drawing her close. The cart rattled down the road and disappeared in the fading sunlight. Primula sighed heavily, her eyes wandering to the tree in whose branches Frodo liked to sit. The yellow and red leaves rustled in the wind.

"I'm troubled," she whispered soundlessly.

Drogo watched her with loving eyes. "Don't worry. You know Frodo. He'll be here before nightfall."

She chuckled. "At least he'll be in time for dinner."

He laughed picking out a leaf from her light brown hair which had somehow gotten entangled in her curls.

Primula busied herself with the cleaning up. Still an inexplicable feeling of disquiet troubled her mind. Every so often she found herself glancing out of the window, looking for her son to return. But there was no sign of him. She told herself not to worry but the feeling lingered and instead of growing less it increased with every minute that passed.

"Something happened," she said as she came back into the living-room where her husband was busy with the fire.

He sighed putting the tongs down and standing up. "He's alright," he assured her as he advanced her slowly. "He will turn up at any moment."

But Primula wasn't so easy to calm down. "No," she breathed shaking her head. Her brow creased as she looked at him pleadingly. "He's in trouble, I can feel it."

Silently he looked into her eyes when she asked him to search for Frodo. Seeing that he could do nothing to calm her down, he finally nodded and headed for the door. While grabbing for his cloak and lightening a lantern he told her again that she shouldn't worry too much and that Frodo soon would be back. She nodded, though Drogo could see that she hadn't calmed down at all. "I'll be back soon," he promised kissing her brow. "Don't you worry, I'm sure he's alright."

The last sunbeams glittered in her hair which was swirling wildly about her neck because of the fresh wind, as she watched her husband walking down the road. With him she sent a silent plea, begging for her son to return safely. Long she stood in front of the door, her own cloak wrapped around her shoulders, looking into the distance. The sunlight was conquered by darkness and night was pushing forward with all its strength. Primula shivered at the thought of her child being alone in the cold darkness. Again her eyes were drawn to the tree. Its leaves rustled angrily, its branches bowed slightly in the wind which was growing stronger.

When she went back into the warm and comfortable hobbithole, she found that she could not find any peace. A silent, yet intense fear had taken hold of her and held her now in a firm grip. She was unable to sit quiet, always pacing from one chamber to the next looking out from every window hoping to see her son. Especially Frodo's room had developed an odd force of attraction. Every so often she found herself standing in the midst of the chamber without even knowing how she got there.

Time passed when suddenly she heard the entrance door open. She rushed to the corridor half expecting to be greeted by the laughing of Frodo, but instead she found herself standing in front of Drogo who had an unspoken question in his eyes.

"You have not found him?" she asked still hoping he was only teasing her and Frodo was just waiting outside the door, though in the back of her mind she knew that he did not tease. Still she couldn't help but to rush outside and assure herself that Frodo was not with him. She felt the grip of fear tighten as she looked about frantically. Tears filled her eyes as she slowly turned around to look pleadingly at her husband."Where is our son, Drogo?" she whispered, her brow creasing. "Where is my child?"

It pained him to see her in so much trouble. He lowered his gaze avoiding to look into her eyes. "I don't know," he breathed recognising that he too became wet-eyed. He had hoped to find Frodo at home at his return but now he felt his heart sink. Where could his son be? He had walked to Bywater and back again and even asked Olo Boffin who was the father of Frodo's friend Folco, if he had seen him. Putting an arm around Primula he hugged her tightly.

"We must find him quickly, Drogo," she told him. "You know he fears darkness, especially when he's alone and…" she sobbed. "I can't even go to him and soothe him and tell him that everything will be alright should he be crying right now."

Drogo knew that he had to act quickly now. First of all he would bring Primula back into the living-room and then he would go back to Bywater and raise the village.

"No!" Primula cried out as he led her inside the Smial. Her eyes searched his, glimmering desperately. "There is no time to lose! Don't worry about me. Go now and please… don't dare to return without my dear little Frodo."

Drogo knew she was right and so he kissed her one last time tasting her salty tears on his lips, before disappearing in the shadows of the night.

Trembling all over she stood at the entrance door looking fearfully into the night. She felt like crying but no more tears found their way to her eyes. She swallowed them all. If Frodo returned on his own, he shouldn't see her crying.

Drogo went to Bywater on a quick pace. The wind whistled in his ears. The lantern in his hand creaked, its flame flickered. He could feel the fear that had taken hold of Primula earlier, now creeping towards him and engulfing him silently. Desperately he cried out Frodo's name. A thought was growing in his mind making him even more anxious than he already was. What would he do if he didn't find Frodo? He abandoned the idea instantly. He mustn't think something like that.

Once he had reached Bywater it didn't take him very long to gather the hobbits. Many of them assembled at the road and discussed their course of action. Search parties were made and soon groups of three or four hobbits were swarming all the way from Bywater to the home of the Bagginses in search of Frodo.

The sun was rising and still their efforts had been in vain. There was no sign of Frodo.

In the early morning hours Laura Boffin had gone to Primula with her son Folco. She declared that no mother should be alone when her child was missing, and she would look after her until Frodo was found. Primula was in a bad condition, when she opened the door to greet Laura. Her face was pale, her eyes wet with tears. She was worried sick about her son.

The day passed slowly. At noon there was still no sign of Frodo and there were already some who gave up hope, saying that the boy probably ran off to who-knows-where. Primula glared angrily at everybody who said that. All too well did she know that her son would never run off. She was cursing Lotho Sackville-Baggins and herself for ordering Frodo to go spend the afternoon with him. "Who knows what he's done to him this year?" she snorted remembering very well that it was on the day Lotho visited that Frodo got all his hair glued.

No one could hold Primula in her home as the hour grew late. She couldn't sit idly; she had to look for Frodo herself. The wind whistled in her ears as she stepped down the road joining the chorus of voices calling for her son. But there never was an answer.

It was evening when her voice got raspy and she finally saw her husband again. He looked no less tired and exhausted than she did, standing under the shadow of a large oak tree. He smiled at her sadly but the smile faded quickly making way for tears. Primula ran towards him and hugged him tightly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely. "I could not find him. I don't know where else I should look for him."

Chapter four: Whispers In The Dark

His heart was pounding fast, almost as if it wished to burst. Frodo stood silent holding his breath, listening. Icy shivers ran down his spine, his body was trembling violently. His heartbeat echoed in his ears, but still he listened intensely. He was sure he hadn't imagined the voice, the laughter, though now everything was silent. Every stone, every drop of water seemed to listen with him. Listen and wait.

There had been something; something cold, something terrible. Once he had heard the voices from above it had been with him. Shivers running down his spine, a cold breath of wind. It had taken hold of him. It had gripped him tightly, stopping him from crying for help. It had been with him and it was not fear. Anxiety was what he now felt. Strong hands tightening their grasp about him, compressing him, scrunching his heart. It felt terrible, made him cry, but it was not the same as before.

Slowly Frodo began to breathe again, his blind eyes still searching the well for any movement. His body was tense, his brow creased.

"Hello?" he whispered breathlessly.

Silence, except for the gurgling of the water beneath him. In some sort of way he was glad that he got no answer, at least not from any voice close to his ears. Relieved he crouched down again, his heartbeat slowly going back to normal.

But his fear lingered. He was alone, caught in a well that wouldn't be opened until spring. It was getting dark. The few sunbeams which had still broken through at the edges of the flagstone were fading. Now Frodo was barely able to see though his eyes got accustomed to the darkness quickly. He looked about anxiously, clasping his knees with cold and wet fingers as if they were the only things to keep him grounded in the heavy blackness that was sinking down on him. Water was dripping from his curls. Frodo felt for his forehead. The wound there was hurting slightly. With trembling fingers he freed some strands of hair that were sticking in the crusted blood.

His thoughts drifted to his parents. Did they miss him by now? Maybe they were already looking for him. Frodo could almost see his parents searching all the way from Bywater to their home. His mother would be worried, accusing Lotho of being the reason why he wasn't home by now. He was sure she was accusing him, for she was of the same opinion as he himself, namely that Lotho hadn't been so innocent when that glue pot got spilled on his hair. A sad smile was playing on the corner of his lips. He snivelled. How long would it take them to find him? Would they look for him in the well? What if they didn't? How long could he survive in here?

Seven days.

Startled Frodo lifted his head looking about frantically, his heart pounding fast. There it was again, the voice. The water splashed, as he clung to the edges of the bucket in a jerky movement. His breathing sounded terribly loud to his ears. He closed his mouth swallowing hard. Had he imagined the voice? Was his mind playing tricks on him?

"Who's here?" he whispered his voice trembling.

He waited, holding his breath, shivering all over, but there was no answer. His eyes glistened with unshed tears of fear. The bucket was spinning round in circles, but Frodo could see nothing, hear nothing except for the silent gurgling beneath his feet.

It took him a while to relax again. Sadly he looked up. He knew that far above him was the flagstone but he couldn't see it. All light had vanished. He was alone, alone in utter darkness. Sobbing quietly, he begged for his parents to find him. It was all Lotho's fault. If not for him he would never have thought of sliding down the well. His parents would have to act swiftly. They had only seven days to find him. Briefly he wondered where that thought came from but then…

~~~~~~

A cool breath of wind stroked his neck. His dark curls were swirling slightly as if someone was brushing his fingers through them. His body got tense as icy shivers ran down his spine. He would have thought it impossible to tremble more than he had already done before, but now he was shivering as if someone had thrown him into a basin full of ice cubes. He felt like weeping, like bursting, like crying out but nothing would work. His body wouldn't obey him. He was paralysed with horror. There were the strong fingers of fear still scrunching his heart but there was another feeling, similar to fear and yet all different: a ghastly feeling that took his breath away.

He felt cold, small fingers caressing his cheek and closed his eyes in terror. There was a silent laughter close to his ear and a whisper of: seven days…

"No!" Frodo cried out finally finding his voice again and lashed about in despair, almost toppling over. "Leave me alone!" Squeezing his eyes shut, he flung his arms around his head crouching to a small, shivering bundle of misery.

~~~~~~

The laughter didn't cease. It seemed to come from far away and yet it was near. It was so very close and Her voice seemed to pierce his heart. Yes, it was Her voice he heard. She was not very much older than he was and yet She was wise beyond Her years. Long ago She had played on the meadow now far above them, on a pleasing October day. It had been one of the last days where the sun would shine before winter would move in and darken the sky with clouds. She had sung to herself an old lullaby Her mother always hummed when She balanced on the edge of the well.

She could never tell what happened afterwards, but when She awoke She was floating in the water, Her dress tattered, Her arms scratched and Her dark hair sticky with blood. Above Her there was nothing but heavy blackness. A flag had been put on the well, like in every autumn. Only on its edge She could see a little light and the image of that shining ring burned itself into Her mind as She spend endless hours floating in the water, crying for help until Her voice failed Her, weeping bitter tears of despair. As time wore on and She slowly lost all hope of being found, She tried to climb the well, but the stones were too smooth. Still She clung to that last hope scraping and scratching until Her nails broke off. But She didn't stop Her last attempt to escape Her prison, not until all Her fingers were bloody and exhaustion took Her. And all the while the only light She saw came from the ring far above Her. Slowly all spirit faded and seven days after the tragic accident She died.

All these years She had been alone and Her heart grew cold and bitter. Being accustomed to darkness Her eyes were pained by the light that reached Her every time the flagstone was removed. She detested light and She hated everyone who could walk on the earth above, while She had to stay in the well never to escape its chillness, its dampness and its ferociousness. She didn't like to be alone and was delighted when the young boy came to Her. She observed him closely from the darkness. She heard the hobbits come, knew that they were bringing the flagstone with them. She saw the glimmer of hope in the young lad's eyes, but She didn't want him to leave. It was so long since She last had company so close at hand. She didn't want him to leave and thus She crept out of the darkness, whispering, holding him close so he would not shout. He shivered, beads of sweat glimmering on his forehead. He was anxious and She knew his fears all too well. She knew them and She wanted him to feel the same pain She had endured. She laughed at the hopelessness in his eyes as the flag was finally there and the only light came from the ring. He would stay with Her. She would keep him, never to escape the cruelties that lingered in the well.

~~~~~~

Frodo feared the voice. Now he was entirely sure that he was not going mad. The voice was there. It was the voice of a girl and yet it was cruel as no girl's voice could be. It was cold, raspy and frightening. He could feel Her. He could feel Her cold breath which he had mistaken as wind which had cunningly found its way into the well. Still he had his eyes closed. Tears of despair streamed down his cheeks as he silently begged for his mother to come. He was afraid of darkness, especially now that Her voice was whispering, laughing. Cold sweat covered his forehead and icy shivers ran down his spine.

"Leave me alone," he pleaded once more, blinking and finally daring to lift his head again, but seeing nothing. Still his fingers were entirely entangled for he felt that he at least needed to cling to something.

Whispers. Frodo seemed to shrink even more, his hands pressing to his breast. Silent humming. He knew the melody. It was a lullaby his mother sometimes sang to him. Though the voice that sang was cold, it was somehow comforting to hear the well known tune. But then the melody changed and the lyrics of the new song terrified him.

On the first four days you're fearful,

On the fifth day you will stop to cry.

On the sixth day life gets tearful,

On the seventh day you'll die.

"No!" shouted Frodo sobbing anew.

There was laughter close to his ear and a cool breath of wind surrounding him slowly. Frodo covered his face with his hands, telling the whispers and the wind to go away.

His thoughts drifted to his mother, to her soft, warm arms wrapped safely around him. Her loving voice was singing to him. He could smell the fresh fragrant of lavender. In the hearth a fire was crackling. His father was sitting beside them chuckling silently, brushing his fingers through his son’s curls. He had just lit a pipe for suddenly the fragrance of lavender mingled with the scent of weed. He snuggled deeper into his mothers embrace, sighing contently.

~~~~~~

There he was, floating on the water, feeling secure in his little bucket. Her eyes were always upon him, as his mind drifted from dream to waking to dream again. She knew that he didn't feel safe; he never would feel like this again as long as She was with him. She knew he could feel Her, even now that he was sleeping. Every time She came closer, every time she traced Her fingers over his cheeks he winced. Sometimes his eyes fluttered open, only to fall close again.

She detested everybody who walked freely on the earth above Her, but this one, this one was different. It was not that She liked him, no, She was unable to like anything. She had long forgotten how to love. But She felt lonely and he, he was a prisoner of the well like Her. He could be with Her, She just had to wait for seven days until he would be Hers forever.

~~~~~~

Frodo was shivering all over. The air was stifling, he felt sick and above all he was cold, hungry and thirsty. His eyes were swollen, red from crying as he lifted his head and looked up. Far above him he could now see a dim glimmer, like a ring of light. Anyway he could not tell how late or early it was for he had lost all sense of time. His hand slid into the water. Frodo jerked from the splash which seemed unbearably loud to his ears. Scared he shook off the water of his fingers. It still seemed to him that it was darker and oilier than it should be. He had not forgotten how nauseated he had felt because of the water and abandoned the thought of drinking it swiftly. Rubbing his hand at his breeches to get rid of the liquid he sighed sadly.

A silent laughter made him jerk.

"No," he breathed anxiously shrinking back into the bucket.

A cold breath of wind sent shivers down his spine.

Seven days, She whispered into his ear and laughed again. Frodo flinched.

On the first four days…

"Stop it!" he cried out desperately.

… you're fearful. On the fifth day …

A sob escaped his lips.

… you will stop to cry.

Frodo forced himself to open his eyes which he had shut in his terror.

On the sixth day …

He could hear her, but where was she?

… life gets tearful.

Who was she?

On the seventh day…

He turned round, looking about frantically but still seeing nothing.

… you'll die.

The bucket hit the cold stonewall. Frodo winced putting forth his hands to push away from the wall. As his hand hit the cold stone something crumbled and got stuck in his palm. An image appeared in front of his eyes. A girl of about twelve summers, her hair long and dark as the night with unusual few curls for a hobbit-lass. Her face was thin and pale, paler even than the sheets of his bed. Her dress was tattered and without any colour. Her arms were thin and peaky, showing many bloody scratches and cuts. She reached out her blood-stained hand, grabbing for him with bloody fingers with broken nails.

Frodo backed away crouching in his bucket, his eyes wide with fear. Red rings were under Her eyelids, Her face, framed by her dark hair, was a grimace of agony and yet an evil smirk was playing on the corner of Her lips revealing rotten teeth. Frodo could hear Her laughing, as She slowly opened Her eyes. He wanted to avoid Her gaze but found that he was paralysed, enthralled by Her pale face.

Then she looked at him, piercing through him with Her very eyes. Cold eyes, dead eyes, eyes of no definite colour; eyes full of fear, of loneliness, of hatred and of malignity;

Frodo gave a cry. Shrill it was, piercing his own ears as it echoed from the cold wall. Frantically he rubbed off the crumbled things that had got stuck in his palm stumbling backwards hitting his head at the bucket. Almost aggressively he rubbed his hands against his breeches to get rid of the fragile, thin and yet though things that he had touched. He could not see what it was and in fact he didn't even want to know.

He was sobbing again, crouching himself in the bucket, shivering all over. His head hurt, his ears rang. He had squeezed his eyes shut and covered his ears with his hands but still he could see Her face before him, could hear Her laughing and singing that terrifying song of Hers.

Chapter five: Seven Days

Primula embraced her husband tightly.

"I don't know where else I should look for him."

Tears were filling her eyes as she heard her husband's words. He was right. They had looked everywhere for more than a day now and still Frodo was not to be found. Where could he be? What happened to her beloved child?

In her mind she could hear him laughing, giggling and singing those stupid children's songs he liked so much. Yet she knew that he was weeping and fearful and that pained her deeply. Little comfort were her husband's arms that were wrapped about her protectively. She needed her child, her Frodo. He must be found and then she would hold him close and never let him out of her eyes again.

Tom Cotton stood silent as he watched the two of them weep. He was a good friend of the Baggins family and he liked the young lad. He could not imagine young Mr. Frodo running away from home like many malicious tongues maintained. He looked west where the sun was already setting. Swallowing hard he advanced towards Drogo and his wife. "I'm sorry, Mr. Drogo," he said sadly. "Most of the hobbits are splitting up. They say it's hopeless and you won't find young Mr Frodo, least not in the night."

Drogo looked at him with unseeing eyes full of tears, but then he nodded. Primula looked into her husband's eyes with a frightened xpression.

"We can not give up so quickly!" she said, her eyes begging him to go on.

Drogo did not answer, but looked west to the setting sun. Primula followed his gaze and shook her head. "We cannot wait until tomorrow! Tomorrow it may be too late!"

Fresh tears filled her eyes as she realised what she had just said. She could not lose him. Frodo was her only child, her blessing when she had already given up hope of ever being a mother. And now she had failed him. She flinched at her own thoughts looking pleadingly at Tom Cotton and her husband.

"I'll help you to look for him," Tom suddenly said.

Drogo and Primula turned to him at once, both looking thankful and terribly sad at the same time.

Tom managed a smile: "I'd say we'd do best if we go back to your home. Maybe he's already turned up. Afterwards we can search the road again."

Primula and Drogo agreed weeping silently as they stepped back to the road, heading for their home.

~~~~~~

Primula had her head bowed, being totally lost in thought. Ever and anon she looked up, glancing about searchingly, half believing she heard Frodo crying for his mother. Drogo had laid an arm about her shoulder, always gazing from one side to the other.

They hadn't gone very far when Primula jerked to a stop. Drogo and Farmer Cotton looked at her questioningly, when she slowly lifted her head and turned around.

"What is it, dear?" Drogo asked.

Her eyes were fixed on the old stone-well. It had not been used for years, not since the tragic incident with a twelve year old girl who had fallen into it twenty years ago.

"We've not looked in the well," she whispered, not taking her eyes off it.

"The well is closed, Mrs. Primula," Tom said. "I myself have closed it yestereve."

"Yestereve?" Primula repeated looking at him frantically.

Slowly she stepped towards it, talking more to herself than to the others.

"You remember the young girl who had fallen into it? They had closed the well on the very evening she had disappeared. They had not seen her. When the well was opened again in spring they'd found her, dead."

Drogo and Farmer Cotton exchanged quick glances before they followed her, helping her to push aside the flagstone.

***

All the time She was laughing and singing, creeping about him, frightening him. Frodo had stopped crying, for he found that he had no more tears left. His tongue was dry and swollen but still he couldn't manage to drink the water from the well. His legs were hurting and besides being rescued his greatest wish was to stretch them again. But he didn't dare to stand up, not since he had seen Her. The image of Her cold, dead eyes, of Her pale face was agonising him. He had wrapped his trembling arms about him, squeezed his eyes shut and was rocking back and forth for hours now.

On the first four days you're fearful,

He had begged her to stop singing, pleaded that she would leave him be.

On the fifth day you will stop to cry.

But neither would work.

On the sixth day life gets tearful,

He had cried for his mother wishing that everything was no more than a bad dream, for a nightmare it was.

On the seventh day you'll die.

But he didn't wake.

On the seventh day you'll die.

She was always with him now, laughing, singing, terrorising him.

The agonising noise of stone scraping against stone made him jerk. Frodo's heart skipped a beat. Had he fallen asleep? Or did he truly hear the hopeful and yet paining noise of stone scraping against stone? Did someone remove the flag?

She was laughing still, but her laughter slowly grew faint.

Fearfully Frodo lifted his head, looking up. The glimmer of hope glistened in his eyes, as he saw that the flagstone move.

"Frodo!" It was his mother's desperate cry.

He gasped for breath. Every fibre of his body suddenly seemed to listen. Did the girl tease him, filling his mind with false hope or…

"Frodo!" Another cry, louder this time and more desperate.

"Mummy," he whispered breathlessly and then he shouted louder than ever before. His voice echoed from the walls but this time it didn't pierce his ears, but filled him with hope.

~~~~~~

"He's down there!" Primula shouted pushing even harder than before, forgetting her exhaustion and tiredness. "I'm here, Frodo, I'm here. I'm coming!"

Tom Cotton's heart stopped beating for a moment. He had thought it impossible that Mr. Frodo would be down there. How could he have closed the well with him inside? Frodo would have died if not for Primula.

When the flag was finally removed all three of them gathered round the well, but neither of them could see Frodo. Still they could hear him and that was enough for Tom Cotton to rush back to Bywater and fetch a rope and some sturdy hobbits to help him pull the young lad out.

Frodo couldn't believe his eyes, when he finally saw light again. He could see his parents and Farmer Cotton leaning over the well looking down to him. Tears glistened in his eyes, as he begged his mother to take him out of the well.

"Soon, my dear. Just a little patience now. Tom will soon be back with the rope," she soothed and yet she was on the point of sliding down the well herself, using the frayed rope to get to her poor, little baby, whose voice sounded so terribly fearful, it tore her heart.

Frodo looked about frantically. At the moment he could neither feel nor hear Her. "Hurry," he shouted with an anxious voice, "before she returns."

Primula could make nothing out of that but she kept on soothing him, while Drogo stood at her side, always looking back towards Bywater, hoping that Farmer Cotton would return swiftly.

~~~~~~

Quietly She waited in the dark, fearing the light. They had come, they had come too early. They should not be here for many months and yet they were. Her eyes rested upon the boy, Frodo was his name. They had come for him. They wanted to take him from Her. Wrath glowed in Her heart. She would not let them have him. He had come to Her, after so long a time. He was Hers and no one else's! And yet She had to wait, wait until the light was gone, for it pained her gravely. She had time left; She had still a little time left. A silent laugh escaped her invisible lips.

~~~~~~

Frodo looked about in despair. She was still here. Tears stung in his eyes as he looked up.

"Hurry," he whispered, feeling that time was getting precious.

Above him Farmer Cotton had returned and with him three more stout hobbit-fellows. Drogo volunteered to go down the well and quickly fastened the rope about his waist. One last time he kissed his wife before carefully sliding down the damp stonewall, while Tom and the other hobbits secured the rope from above.

Frodo's eyes glistened as he watched his father coming down to him. Soon he would be free again. Beside him there was a silent laughter. He turned around, his eyes open wide.

~~~~~~

She was getting fretful, as the other one came down. He would take him, Frodo, away from Her. But still She waited and when the light was finally gone, She crept out of Her hiding place sneaking around Frodo. He could feel Her, for he had started to tremble again.

"Hurry!" he cried out, his heart pounding fast.

She could feel his heartbeat, as She laid Her cold hand upon his breast.

Frodo…

"Hurry!"

Drogo looked back to see why his son suddenly was so desperate, but he saw nothing. Frodo was shivering all over, his eyes wide with fear. "Calm down, Frodo," he soothed. "I'll be with you soon."

Frodo looked up to him.

Frodo…

She laughed. Frodo lashed about in despair. Drogo again tried to calm his son, but he quickly realised that it didn't work. Haste was needed.

… with you…

"Leave me alone!" Frodo shouted crouching back in his bucket.

Her laughter close to his ears; shivers down his spine;

He sobbed, looking to his father again who was slowly coming closer.

"Take my hand!" Drogo suddenly ordered.

Frodo looked about frantically, standing up slowly and reaching for his father's hand.

She would not let him go. She would not let them have him. He was Hers, Hers!

MINE…

Her cold arm grabbed his wrist. Frodo cried out, toppled over. His father caught him just in time before he would have fallen into the water. Frodo lashed about in despair, always crying "No, no…!"

Drogo had difficulties in holding him.

"What's the matter down there?" Primula asked frightful.

"Pull!" Drogo shouted.

Tom Cotton and his friends pulled with all their strength and with desperate haste for Frodo sounded as if he was haunted by some terrible nightmare.

The last sunbeams pained his eyes as they slowly approached the opening. Frodo blinked, clinging to his father desperately, always fearing that She would grab for him again. His wrist hurt as if it had been held in a tight grip for a long time. As soon as they reached the top of the well, Primula picked her son from Drogo's hands. Trembling all over Frodo sank into his mother's arms, weeping bitterly. Primula was crying too, as she gently stroked his hair, soothing him, rocking him back and forth.

"Everything will be alright. No one will hurt you" she whispered, kissing his curls and hugging him tightly. "Everything will be alright.

It brought even more tears to her eyes when she recognised the bloody cut on his forehead, his pale face and the dark red, rings under his eyes. She pulled off her cloak, wrapping it around his freezing body, pulling him even closer. As she stroked his slender arms Frodo suddenly flinched. On his left wrist there were markings. Small red fingerprints, as if someone had grasped him tightly. Primula looked at her son worriedly, exchanging a quick, questioning glance with her husband.

~~~~~~

Had they not been too occupied with Frodo, the hobbits would have heard Her angry cry. She had grabbed him tightly but the other one had been too strong for Her. He had snatched Frodo away from Her deadly grasp. She glared up to the night bitterly. She knew he would never come back. But She would stay as She had always done, waiting, grieving for Her own loneliness and someday, someday a new child would come and then…

A scraping noise and then…. silence. The well had been closed again.

***

It was already late at night, when Frodo finally fell asleep. Primula had provided him lots of food and drink which Frodo gladly accepted. But although he must have been tired beyond belief, he didn't want to sleep. He was looking at her with his sad, fearful eyes, talking of whispers and telling her about Her, the girl that never sleeps.

Primula had soothed him, stroked his pale cheek, concealing the pain she felt when she looked into his red and swollen eyes, the pain that struck her, when she saw the dark rings under his eyelids.

She had fetched several blankets and wrapped them about her child. Then, sitting in front of the hearth she gathered him into her arms, rocking back and forth and humming a lullaby. Frodo suddenly tensed when she started singing but then he relaxed and soon his body went totally limp and his breathing grew slow and even.

Drogo, who was sitting beside her, gently stroked his son's dark curls . He had rings under his eyes too, for the signs of exhaustion were now slowly revealed.

"You remember the girl?" she suddenly asked.

Drogo nodded. "Frodo spoke of one too."

"It was the same well. It had been in October but they only found her in spring. It must have been terrible for her and her parents. I wonder if the poor thing had still been alive when she fell in."

Frodo turned in her lap, looking up at her. The fire cast ghastly shadows on his face. His eyes were glimmering as the fire flickered.

"She lived," he whispered. "She lived for seven days."

Primula looked at him in shock, her eyes falling upon his wrist where still small red fingerprints could be seen. She pulled him closer exchanging a worried glance with Drogo, wondering neither for the first nor for the last time that evening, what had happened to her son down in the well.

"Seven days," he whispered again and the fire crackled.

~~~~~~

~THE END~

Yes, that was it. Thanks to everyone who read this story and left a comment. It was actually my second try in scaring stories (though the first one including hobbits), and I'm glad it worked. Thanks again for following this story.